


mourningstar

by isometric



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Akashi doesn't know how to ask for help and thus everyone suffers, Akashi’s golden eye being actual gold and not just the colour, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Gen, bastardization of Hou Yi legend, gratuitous sun imagery, slight body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24330040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isometric/pseuds/isometric
Summary: Later, historians will write of the fall of the Empire as inevitable; of the great coalition of fighters as triumphant, their fearsome mage vanguard as divinely blessed, and their cause as righteous. And they will forget that what drove the rebellion —in spite of oppression, in spite of demons—  was really love.
Relationships: Akashi Seijuurou & Kuroko Tetsuya, Akashi Seijuurou & Midorima Shintarou
Kudos: 4





	mourningstar

_oh, see how they cradle the sun in their arms_  
_light spilling out, endless_  
_see their eyes touched by that holy halo_  
_avert your eyes, avert your eyes_  
_from that brilliant white, lest you forget why_  
_the sun rises above devotion_

Once the doors close, Kuroko takes him apart, piece by piece.

First is the blindfold, which he accepts, because he had surrendered, after all. He does not want to see death coming, though not out of fear: Akashi Seijuurou does not fear death, and does not fear losing his resolve should he see grief in the faces of those he loved.

But the golden eye sees all, the mortal eye on its way to join its twin, and Kuroko does not need to see the humanity in them when he gives the mercy blow.

Next come the restraints. Kuroko moves soundlessly, a ghost in the dark Seijuurou cannot see but tracks regardless, because he is as familiar as a shadow and as predictable as one. Layers of pre-woven spellwork —Kagami's, by its feel— gently wrap themselves around his hands, ribbons and ribbons of restrictions until the magic there is sealed.

It won’t be enough, of course. The golden eye is the magic's true source. But Seijuurou lets Kuroko take his time with rituals, the funerary ones to protect his remains from necromancy, and the mourning ones. Kuroko grieves quietly, as royal protocol demands. He’s always been quiet; even now, he hasn’t made a sound since the great doors closed.

Without a word, Kuroko activates the seals, and the ribbons sever Seijuurou’s hands at the wrist. It doesn’t hurt, though pain would have been preferable to the shock of nothingness, but then again, Kuroko has always had that streak of kindness and reluctance to let others suffer, the strength to see things through to the end. It was why Seijuurou had picked him to serve in court, all those years ago, despite all the more qualified nobles clamouring for the position.

It’s why Seijuurou lets him continue now, dismantling him piece by piece and forcing the magic back to his core. That does hurt, after a while, pressure building in his veins and nerves as magic swells, but Seijuurou keeps it to himself.

He’s never known how not to keep it to himself.

Soon, there is only his head and torso left. Kuroko pauses. Seijuurou sees him freeze, in his mind’s eye, through the all-seeing golden eye, even as he cannot see out of the darkness at all. He feels the grief pouring out of his old friend, resolve not overpowered so much as put on hold. It’s ironic, that his world is ending, when to his friends, he’d been the world.

In a way, he’s still their world. A representation of the utter wrongness of their world —lost innocence, ruined dreams— but also of the order and law of it. After him, there will be no stability or certainty.

But that’s why he entrusted them with this mission. They’re his handpicked, personally trained kingsguard. The Generation of Miracles, the hope for the new world.

Kuroko finally moves, bowing deeply at the waist, as royal protocol demands. The spellwork settles around Seijuurou's neck with a soft hum, the seals glowing bright. The golden eye, perhaps sensing its end, calms down.

Kuroko hesitates again.

“I’m sorry.”

Seijuurou looks up to the ceiling, in his mind’s eye. Imagines the interplay of light, the untameable gold of his magic and the brilliant white of the seals. The shimmering dust of his disintegrated body. _I wanted this_ , he reminds himself.

“You’ll put me back together again, won’t you?” he muses.

“Of course,” Kuroko chokes out. “However long it takes. I’ll piece you together until you’re whole.”

“Swear it to me.”

“I swear.”

Seijuurou wishes he could see him one last time. See him properly, with his mortal eye, the one he’d forsaken for his destiny. The golden eye closes at last, the magic draining back to his heart. He imagines Kuroko standing proudly before him, resolute.

“Then good night, Kuroko Tetsuya."

The ribbons cover the rest of him, soothingly cool against the burning in his heart.

“Good night, my king.”

  


* * *

  
When the great doors open again, hours later, everyone jolts to attention. Kuroko walks out, alone, a golden orb cradled in his hands. As they watch, the orb darkens, the magic inside swirling about until red blooms and overtakes the gold.

Nijimura collapses to his knees. Somewhere off the side, Murasakibara begins to wail.

There was once a legend of ten suns who rose together in the sky, dooming the world to burn. The hero of the legend shot them down, one by one, bursting each sun’s core with his divine arrows— and as the cores burst, the magic drifted towards the remaining siblings, until there was only one.

Centuries later came the legend of a golden Sun who nearly swallowed the world. In its grief, its desperate search for its lost siblings, it burned endlessly, heaving under its own power and bringing droughts and devastation. And where its magic touched, seeking a long-dead trail, it burned through the fabric between planes, allowing demons to cross through and walk the earth.

The hero was summoned once more, aiming divine arrows at the last sun. Compassionate but duty-bound, the hero appealed to the Sun's heart, thus exposing it. The arrows flew, bursting the golden core, which scattered to the earth. From then on, the Sun would be unfathomable, untouchable.

And from then on, power would come at a different cost.

To his court, to his kingdom, Akashi Seijuurou was the sun. He was flawless, tireless, his magic a magnificent barrier that protected his people from the horrors outside, an ever-expanding shield that grew and grew until it was strong enough to seal the spaces between planes. His eyes had always been red, until one day, gold emerged, destiny unfolding like a timeless story.

Like an ever-rising sun that needed to be shot down. Six hundred years ago, scribes recorded the fall of a king with golden eyes who’d almost destroyed everything with her power, in a bid to save the world. Three hundred years ago, a king had gouged his own eyes out, trying to stave off the inevitable.

But history books don’t talk about kings who weren’t kings, youths and knights and common folks who were born charismatic and kind, who grew up wanting to protect something, and ended up needing to be put down themselves. Shintarou has hunted all these stories down, and he knows this is a cycle. The golden eye wakes in grief and horror, a response to absolute hopelessness. To obtain it, is to find judgment, for the golden eye sees all.

Akashi inherited too early a kingdom that would never fall, but he turned his eyes outward, saw the scorched land and endless sorrow. And then, at the end of his limits, magic fraying and over-stretched, his court in disarray and his people seething in resentment, he must have realised the truth of the cycle.

To obtain the golden eye is to obtain judgment, and judgment is righteous control. Thus, an empire rose.

But to possess control is also to prepare to lose it.

“We'll put him back together,” Momoi says. “We’ll definitely save him.” Her eyes shine with unshed tears. Momoi has always been strong, even without magic, the lone voice of reason in the king's court to the very end. She nods at Mibuchi and his squad, Akashi's personal guards, who step forward.

“We’ll take it from here, and keep watch until he’s ready," Mibuchi says.

Kuroko hands him the orb, carefully and reluctant to let go. But let go he does, and Mibuchi and his squad disapparate from the room. From here on, they'll be on the run from demons following the orb's thrum of power. And as the only group known for its continued loyalty to the fallen emperor, they'll be entirely on their own.

At the loss of the orb —of Akashi’s soul, in truth— the castle begins to crumble around them, a terrible wind rising with mourning howls. Aomine’s barrier comes alive, his massive strength holding effortlessly against the falling stones and sharp air currents. When the ruins finally settle around them, he dispels the barrier and holds out his hand. Slowly, shimmering dust gather in his palm.

Nijimura stumbles to his feet, Kise supporting him, until their old captain is close enough to place a protection spell on the dust. Kagami weaves a containment spell, creates it out of nothing like the genius he is, and that’s where Aomine pours the handful of dust. The makeshift urn goes to Kuroko, who’s always been the favourite.

They don’t know how many pieces Akashi’s body has shattered into, how many handfuls of dust they have to gather, how and where to find them. The seals between the planes will hold as long as needed, Akashi's will binding and eternal, but as they are, they cannot close the space between planes. Akashi must be rebuilt, free of the golden eye's terrible love, before his burial can trigger the process, even if they’re not sure how.

And time is ticking down to when the golden eye wakes —and wakes him— again.

Kuroko wipes his eyes dry, and motions for Murasakibara to begin the teleportation array. Purple swirls about, connecting people in assigned groups, while Kise braids destination spells into the array. Each group will head for a different location: most to liberate the besieged cities and push back the remaining demon hordes, others to seek the scattered pieces of their king. There’s no rest for the likes of them, not when Akashi’s fate rests on the line. Not when the world's fate rests on the line.

Murasakibara’s magic draws Shintarou, Takao and Momoi to Fuyujima, the sunken home of a forgotten library, where they might find a way to change history. Years ago, before the kingsguard had torn itself apart, when they still dared to look to their king with admiration and comradery, Akashi had hypothesized that the lost island might hold records of the planes between worlds. Then, in the fallout of their leaving, the golden eye confirmed the records’ existence, protected by centuries-old magic.

Alone at the top of an empire conquered through blood and taxed by strain of the ever-expanding shield, Akashi could not slip away to find those records. He was one person; the strongest person the world had known, perhaps, but still human. He had to rely more and more on the golden eye’s power as he began to seal the spaces between the planes. And as his empire grew in tandem, his attention turned elsewhere, to the rest of the world that had yet to submit. There were demons to kill and nations to annex. There were forsaken villages barely surviving on the outskirts of the wastelands.

And yet, despite it all, he’d still left the key to his destruction, whether or not he'd been fully aware of his decision. He hadn’t chased down the exiled members of the kingsguard, hadn’t sought out its retired captain.

Perhaps that was why, even after everything they’d all said and done, he entrusted his soul to his kingsguard. The Generation of Miracles, reunited in purpose again, for the sake of the world, because they’ve always been stronger when they were together—and Akashi’s already done his part, their leader to the very end.

Shintarou won’t let him down.


End file.
